Colony 3: Lake
by DarkBeta
Summary: Modesty Blaise AU. Somewhere, their adventure continues still.
1. It Will Happen on a Holiday

Colony: Lake I, by DarkBeta

(I modestly admit i have no rights to Modesty, whether comic, book or movie. Nevertheless i'm taking her and her friends out to play . . . a long, long way from home. For those unfamiliar with her; Modesty and Willie retired from one side of the law and began (as a sort of hobby) helping out the other. They save people, a lot. And Willie has precognitive ears. This first chapter is a boring list of names and relations. If you can slog thru it, i think the next one will be better. [kowtows abjectly])

**[Sussex, England, Fall of 1978]**

The dinner at Benildon was a retirement party, of sorts. The obscure department to which Sir Gerald Tarrant gave so many decades had not yet notified him of the redundancy of his services, but he and Fraser had seen too many changes of government to ignore the handwriting on the wall.

Tarrant had outlived his supporters. A new generation of politicians saw the rules he'd evaded, and not the miracles he'd brought off.

The department would plan some commemoration, of course. Lunch with the minister, and a token of appreciation. (Probably a watch, and certainly sterling silver.) On his last day there would be congratulations and perhaps even tears from the staff, and Tarrant would accept their good wishes with his usual courtliness.

Here, he laughed with Janet Gillam over a comic moment from a generally horrific period. The awkward Dr. Pennyfeather stumbled against the coffee table and upset everyone's cocktails. Under the guise of bringing in new drinks, Willie Garvin dragged Fraser into the cottage's small kitchen.

"Modesty and I been talking. We can get 'old of leverage for Tarrant."

"Don't trouble yourselves," Fraser said wearily. "He told me to keep out of it. He said, when the agents he sent out to get themselves killed began to look like school children, it was time for another hand at the reins."

Willie let a breath out.

"Reckon 'e knows best, but it seems a waste."

"It's a bloody balls-up," Fraser agreed. "They'll never find anyone to take his place. Never."

He carried a tray of drinks back into the sitting room. Lady Janet Gillam's gentle brogue recounted her misadventure with a new manure spreader. Setting down the other tray, Willie shook his head at Modesty. The darkly elegant woman shrugged slightly.

From old habit Fraser faded toward the edge of the gathering to watch the spread of information. Tarrant was distracted, but Maude Tiller saw the interchange and scowled. Brooks watched dourly, and Danny Chavasse raised an eyebrow. Over by the wall 'Orace looked sidelong at Willie without interrupting the argument over Indian cricket that Bluey had goaded him into.

As one of Tarrant's operatives, Maude knew the situation. She'd been almost as eager as Fraser to keep Tarrant in control. Chavasse wasn't as well known a quantity. He'd been Modesty's employee, but left the Network some while before she disbanded it. Yet she felt concern enough to go after him years later, once she and Willie discovered he was being held in a peculiar captivity.

Lynn Brooks took a drink from Willie's tray and gulped it, ignoring her father's frown. Behind Chief Inspector Brooks Sergeant Sutton stared at the ceiling, having decided some while before to see nothing at all.

"About time!" Stephen Collier announced, reaching for a couple of the glasses. "We are all of us parched, withered, panting for refreshment, while you and that lout Garvin loiter in the pantry, tippling on the good brandy. You should leave such vital affairs to the estimable Weng. Where has your faithful factotum bestowed himself, Modesty?"

"The glass is in front of you, dear, six inches from the edge of the table." he added.

His wife Dinah reached for her drink unerringly.

"Thank you, Willie," Modesty said, accepting a glass. "I meant for Weng to join us. However he informs me that the caterer was overconfident when she said everything was prepared. I believe he's reorganizing the table settings."

Collier groaned.

"You know what that means, don't you? Fish forks and caviar spoons, a paraphenalia more than adequate for the good doctor here to commit thoracic surgery."

"Hush up, love. I have it on good authority that nice people don't discuss surgery right before dinner," Dinah told him.

"Nice people? Nice people? Nice people? Our current company isn't likely to let a little grue interfere with their enjoyment of a bloody rare steak or pasta marinara. Tell them what you were telling me, Giles, about the appendix case on the cargo ship in a hurricane."

Giles Pennyfeather had been staring at one of the white-washed walls. With a start he pulled himself back from his contemplation.

"Oh, that? It isn't very interesting. I'd spent a couple hours bending over every teaspoon on board to use as clamps, so it didn't matter that I kept dropping them. Aside from the nuisance of fishing them out of the incision. The only problem was the chief steward passing out on top of the steak knives I used for scalpels. Gave himself a sucking chest wound, and I had to resterilize the lot."

"Enough! I take it back. Too close an acquaintance with life that's real and earnest is definitely not conducive to the appetite required for tonight's groaning board. Halt at once. In fact, reverse. What was the topic of conversation previous to this one?"

Pennyfeather grinned, unoffended. Janet snorted.

"Manure, as I recall."

"A topic altogether more suitable for the present mixed company."

"You're looking prim, Fraser," Tarrant said, sotto voce. "What do you find amusing?"

"Merely indexing the, er, past and present interpersonal relations."

"I see what you mean. Modesty has slept with four of the men, and Dinah and Maude with two of them. Willie's bedded three of the women, and Danny two . . . . It does begin to sound rather Bloomsbury."

"Not, er, quite the same, sir," Fraser pointed out.

"Not unless there were serious gaps in our files," Tarrant chuckled.

"Actually, I think Weng is insulted," Modesty admitted, on the other side of the room. "I don't entertain enough to show off his organizational talents. He hoped for a longer guest list."

She wore a long Chinese style tunic over slim leggings. Curled on the chaise-longe, she looked entirely decorative. Stephen gestured with the hand holding his glass.

"I can see how providing for a dozen guests on short notice might be too paltry a challenge for a self-respecting seneschal."

Lynn flirted with Willie, who wandered out of range. Lady Janet distracted Lynn's father with a comment about rural crime. Maude brought George Sutton a second drink and he began to relax. Fraser couldn't resist one last try.

"Sir, are you sure you won't reconsider?"

"Diminishing returns, Jack. Trying to hang on means more and more time given to defending my position, and less and less to the work that needs doing. The game's not worth the candle."

Tarrant put a hand on Fraser's shoulder though, wordless acknowledgement of the other man's support. The gesture was out of character. He dropped his hand quickly. Both men looked up at the sound of breaking glass.

"That sodding doctor," Fraser muttered.

In fact the shards on the oak plank floor were the remains of Dinah's glass. The hand from which it had fallen stayed in mid-air, still cupped to hold its curve.

"Cold," she said. "Burning cold."

Stephen was behind her chair in a moment, his hands on her shoulders.

"You got a flash of something?"

"Alone, and . . . and empty. Something watching us. Planning. But cold, not . . . not really interested. It tastes like lightning."

"Princess," Willie said sharply.

He was rubbing his ear. Modesty reached into the drawer of a sidetable as she spoke.

"Ears?"

"Prickling something fierce."

"Mr. Fraser, if you don't mind?"

Fraser caught the pistol she tossed to him and checked its load. Modesty held a second, lighter weapon.

"The hall has the best shielding, and the most avenues of escape. I'm not leaving you out, Maude. There's another cache in the wardrobe," She raised her voice. "Weng? Trouble."

Dr. Pennyfeather put down his drink and stepped around the table to Lady Janet. He winced a little as the sharp corner scraped his shin.

"Let me give you a hand, ducks."

He helped Janet to her feet. Tarrant followed Modesty into the hall.

"Any guesses as to the target?"

"Not at my end. Could be Brooks, or you."

"I daresay I'm a poorer subject now for a kidnapping or assassination, than I have been for decades. The timing would be abysmally bad. And anyone who lacks information of my approaching retirement should not be aware of my dinner plans."

Willie shrugged into a webbed vest and touched the black bone handle of one of its knives.

"Could be revenge."

"An hasty hatred, that can't wait the few months until I'm officially unprotected. Possible, of course. If I've brought trouble to you, my dear, I am most sorry."

He reached to take off a hat he wasn't wearing, and ended up brushing his hair back instead. Modesty gave him a wry smile.

"It's just as likely the other way around, isn't it? We'll worry about that later."

Willie passed out guns from a hidden arsenal. The Chief Inspector accepted one matter-of-factly.

"A good weapon. Should I mention permits?"

"Ask me no questions . . . ." Willie sing-songed.

". . . and you won't hear any lies, Brookie," Modesty said. "You and the sergeant go back with Willie. Bluey, you and 'Orace keep an eye on the noncombatants."

"Stinks out there. Really strange," 'Orace said uneasily.

Modesty's nod acknowledged the information, as she finished their assignments.

"Jack and Maude and I will take the front."

Fraser already stood against the wall in the lea of the heavy wardrobe, watching the front door with a hunter's attention. Gently Tarrant ushered Lynn, Danny, Giles, Janet and the Colliers back to where a bend in the passage gave them a modicum of shelter. Weng met them there, with a sleek gun in one hand and a pan of savory tarts in the other, wearing an incongruous dark green apron over his white jacket.

"On Chef Weng's cooking show this evening, equipping your kitchen with all the necessary modern appliances," Stephen muttered. "Don't worry, Dinah. Not much gets past Modesty and Willie, and they have forewarning, and plenty of back-up."

"I know, honey. I know."

But Dinah still shivered.

Light flared blindingly. Where there had been a door, there wasn't. Collier saw Modesty -- Modesty! -- float still and helpless, heard Willie howl as if at an amputation, watched Fraser and Maude and Weng and all the rest caught into glowing coccoons.

One did not research the paranormal without encountering the concept of UFOs. Stephen didn't try to fight or argue, only held his wife and repeated, "Don't be afraid. I'll find you. Don't be afraid."

"Damn. I was locum at surgery next week."

That was Pennyfeather. Somehow he'd kept hold of his worn black bag.

"Daddy?" Lynn cried. "I'm sorry!"

"In the name of Her Majesty's government, I protest this intrusion," Tarrant said dryly.

When Stephen was divided from Dinah, as he floated like the others in a coccoon of light, he could hear the horses screaming in their stalls. He wept for their brute terror as well as for his own.

_The disappearance of Chief Inspector Brooks, with his sergeant and daughter, stayed in the headlines for several weeks. Fifteen years later a fictionalized television special purported to solve the crime by accusing an old enemy, since dead, who couldn't protest the calumny._

_Lady Janet was missed by her neighbors. The vicar gave a memorial sermon. Letters to the Times mourned the fate of a crippled widow in language so emotional that Lady Janet would have much resented it._

_The abduction of Sir Gerald Tarrant rated a short paragraph on the back pages. His two agents were not mentioned at all. Hatches were battened and houses cleaned, as the experts waited to discover which inimical party would reveal access to three decades of official secrets. Long after new crises displaced the old, the mystery was pondered over late-night brandies._

"_He didn't break," they decided._

_An opportunistic crook took credit for clearing Blaise and Garvin out of the way, with Weng and Chavasse as lagniappe. He didn't last long in the company where such fame put him._

_The following summer a number of ladies of a certain age decided that cruises were no longer entertaining, since that dear Mr. Chavasse had found other employment._

_Stephen Collier's publisher raised the alarm when he didn't hear from the writer for several months. After so long a delay, the authorities never did establish where and when he and his wife had dropped from sight._

_Bluey's people didn't think about him much. 'Orace's tribe chanted for his death. Dr. Pennyfeather's acquaintance assumed he had jaunted off to the other side of the world again, and was saving lives in muddy huts and tumbledown sheds. Nobody presumed to mourn for him._


	2. Waking Up Blind

Colony 3: Lake, Chapter 2, by DarkBeta

(I know perfectly well that there's no excuse for my truly horrible ('orrible) attempt at a Cockney accent. I'm American. I don't even speak British, much less Cockney! (I'm not actually all that great at American really; maybe some sort of midlantic?) On the other hand, a Willie Garvin who speaks BBC seemed truly out of character. I made the decision that even fake Cockney was better than Standard English in this context. If i erred . . . it was well-meant.)

**[Valley, Morning of Day One]**

Somebody was shouting, a terrible racket for so early in the morning. Warm breath, and then a moistly intimate caress against his cheek. Willie rolled onto his back and tried to pry open his eyelids.

"Wot, again, Krista? Yer insatiable."

He finally got his eyes open, and stared up into a horseface that certainly didn't belong to Krista. Wossername. Modesty's four-year-old bay hunter. What was she doing out of her stall? For that matter, why on earth had he fallen asleep out in the pasture? If he'd gotten that drunk, Modesty would have his hide!

At the thought he sat up abruptly. The mare took offense. She pranced away, kicking up her heels a couple times before she started to graze. The grass was easily waist-high, a green wall that limited his view to a patch of earth and a patch of cloudless sky.

He wore dinner clothes. Nothing formal -- a turtleneck and cords -- just good enough to show he'd made the effort. He ran a quick hand along his belt and seams, and found no hidden tools or weapons. He hadn't been out on a job. He wore his vest though, with the throwing knives in place. He'd had enough forewarning to arm, though it didn't seem to do much good.

Willie pushed unease aside. Modesty had to be around here somewhere. He got up, surveying a full circle at the level of the grass tops before he slowly straightened.

Krista-the-horse had equine company. The big gelding, Cabinet, that Willie rode when he rode with Modesty. The canny ten-year-old she'd gotten Tarrant onto, the last few times he visited. The preternaturally calm dapple-grey she'd bought on impulse a few months ago, when Dinah looked wistful at the sound of riders going past. The Arab mare that was a gift beyond value from Sheik Abu-Tahir.

The grassy area was a ribbon of green along a watercourse so narrow the grass hid it, bounded by heavy oak forest on both sides. That had to be why the horses hadn't wandered off. Willie couldn't see a steeple, a power pylon, or so much as a jet trail. No signs of civilization at all. What he could see was the tall grass shaking as something crawled through it, stopped, crawled again.

It could be the nanny goat that was the current stable mascot, sampling the underbrush and then pushing on to a tastier locale. He made a careful approach anyway, easing silently through the grass.

It wasn't the goat. Dinah Collier had stripped out of her hose, tied a small stone in each toe, and was using it to keep moving straight. She held one stone, threw the other forward, and crawled to it. Judging by her knees, she'd been moving like that for some time. He didn't want to think what it felt like, waking up alone and blind in a strange place.

"'Orrid way to treat your good clothes. That frock's 'eaded for the ragbin," he said, voice deliberately light.

"Oh, Willie!"

He didn't have long to appreciate the cozy armful she made. Dinah sniffed, stepped back, and wiped a hand across her eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to dissolve on you like that. I just . . . I couldn't find anyone. I could hear . . . things moving around, but when I yelled nobody answered. It seemed like an awfully long time. Do you know where anyone else is?"

"I was 'aving a nice lie-in. I just woke up a couple minutes ago. Don't worry. We'll find 'em. What's that educated sniffer of yours say?"

"I can smell grass, and horses, and fresh water. I don't think we're too far from the ocean. I thought I got a whiff of Stephen, which is why I came this way, but I don't know . . . . I want it to be him so much, I can't be sure . . . ."

He folded her fingers over his handkerchief. She blew her nose, tacking the cloth into her pocket with a rueful smile. She'd worn a tailored linen suit. The jacket was not much damaged, but the stylishly slim skirt would never be the same.

"Thanks. Do I look like I've had the collywobbles? Stephen hates it when he thinks I've been scared."

"You're ducky. Radiant. Aside from 'aving gone a round with six tiger cats in a rose arbor."

Dinah giggled, moving around to put a hand on his arm.

"Well, come on," she said. "Let's go find everybody."

He set off along the heading she'd begun. Dinah might doubt herself, but Willie didn't have any better clues. He stopped after no more than twenty steps to keep from walking across a body. Dinah's instinct had been right on the money. He didn't like to think how long those few yards would have taken her though. He guided her hands down to the unconscious man.

"Just my luck. 'Ere I am, off for a stroll in the wilderness with a lovely lady, and 'oo do we run into? 'Er usband!"

"Stephen!"

Crouched by Stephen Collier's side, Dinah's hands moved over him frantically. Willie put a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy. I don't reckon he's hurt. Just out of it."

Her hands fisted in her husband's dinner jacket, and she shook him.

"Oooh! How dare he sleep, when I was so scared for him?"

"Concierge? Cancel my wake-up call."

Collier's eyes were still closed, but his arm came up around Dinah's shoulders and pulled. She landed on his chest with an "umph!"

"We're sleeping in," her husband finished.

"We are not sleeping in! Wake up, you great lump! You've got to help Willie find everybody else."

Willie grinned.

"I'll leave you two to it, eh?"

He began circling in a search pattern, using the Colliers as its hub. Aside from his trail and Dinah's, there was no sign of any other passage. Stephen might have been dropped from mid-air. That would have broken the brushwood under him, though.

Willie felt eyes on him. A few yards away, Krista-the-horse looked meditative. She chewed a mouthful of the moist grass, and drooled green.

"Don't get the wrong idea. Just because Krista an' me 'as broke up, doesn't mean I'll ignore yer disgusting personal 'abits," he told her.

The blue nylon-web halter bobbed on her muzzle. Modesty insisted on leaving halters on the horses, in case of a fire in the stable or some other urgency. Willie grimaced.

"Yer right. I'm an idiot," He raised his voice. "Oi, Dinah, I want yer 'ose!"

Collier stood up.

"You want my wife's what?"

"Anything for you, Willie," Dinah simpered, and tossed the scrunched-up cotton tights in his direction.

"Oh, her hose. That's all right then," Collier said primly.

"And what did you think he meant, oh Lord-and-Master?"

"Toes . . . nose . . . something like that."

Dinah giggled. And part of it was pretending to be strong so Stephen wouldn't worry, but part of it was humor as a time-tested stress reduction technique. Collier ought to patent that, Willie thought vaguely.

From Krista-the-horse's back, with Dinah's hose for reins, he could easily spot the gaps in the grass where someone might lie. Didn't take more than a half hour or so to find almost everyone. Mostly they were asleep when he found them, but he hauled them back for the Colliers to watch, and everyone seemed to wake without problems. He still couldn't see any signs of whatever left them there.

Willie rounded up the horses, and the recalcitrant goat, and got everyone out to search the valley on foot. A couple hours later, they'd trodden down most of the grass.

They hadn't found Modesty.


	3. Intimations

Colony 3: Lake, Chapter 2, by DarkBeta

**[Valley, Afternoon of the First Day]**

Tarrant had the others in hand. Well, Brooks gave the orders, but most of them were based on Fraser's diffident suggestions, and no-one doubted who Fraser spoke for. Janet kept an eye on the horses and the goat, as they grazed on the lush grass beside the stream. 'Orace decided he had to sing. Maude dragged George Sutton off for a recce. They'd find a campsite. Without a word said everyone had agreed they would stay where they'd been dumped, until they had some idea about Modesty.

"I'm goin' about this all wrong," Willie said aloud.

He had to stop trying to think like the kidnappers. A bunch of right nutters anyways. He had to figure out what Modesty did. She wouldn't walk off and leave them. First thing she'd want to know was if the enemy was still around though. By the time she scouted the area, people would be waking up, doing all right on their own.

When things were going crazy, people mostly reached out to other people. Like those poor blighters who got kidnapped, and ended up trying to connect with the guys who did it. Modesty reached in. Found a core of steel that nothing could bend or mar. When she hurt inside, like when they thought Tarrant had been killed, she went walkabout. Found someplace to deal with it by herself.

Catching Tarrant's eye, Willie pointed to himself and then to the forest. Tarrant nodded. He knew where Willie was going.

Modesty sat cross-legged under a pine, high enough on the slope to have a good view of the stream and both sides of the valley. She'd taken off the gold-embroidered tunic. Willie gave a mental nod of approval. The leggings and dark blouse worn underneath it made a better fighting costume.

One of the barn cats lay on the folded tunic by her knee, and purred as she petted it. Willie was careful not to approach silently. The cat slitted its eyes at him, but felt safe enough to stay put.

"Princess?"

"Hello, Willie."

He'd only heard her sound that distant a handful of times. Mostly when she'd been hurt bad. She'd withdraw, leaving the thinnest facade of self to deal with the world, while the rest faced the true enemy. He couldn't see any damage though.

"Yer cat's going to kitten, any day now."

"Yes, she is. She'd found a couple of dens in the hay barn, but I don't know if she would have used them. Last time she had them in the manger," she told him. "Did you know Dinah's pregnant?"

He whistled.

"I should of guessed. Explains a lot about how those two are acting."

"Secret exuberance with an edge of terror. They were afraid they might lose this one too, but Dinah said the dangerous period was almost over. Willie, I don't know where we are."

Location was her skill, as rationally inexplicable as Willie's prickling ears, but more reliable. Blindfolded, drugged or concussed, she could judge within a hundred miles or so where she found herself.

"That's a new one. What happened, do you think?"

"I don't think we're on Earth."

Willie looked around at the trees and the blue sky. Was it, maybe, too dark a blue? Not the color the sky should be?

"Right. You going to tell the others?"

He didn't often get the chance to see Modesty astonished. Eyebrows up, chin hanging; in spite of everything he had to grin.

"You believe me?"

"Of course," he said, letting his tone show he was slightly insulted. "Don't know how we're going to prove it though."

"Stars. Brooks and Lynn spent enough time out in that desert that they should see the change. Maude's survival refresher included celestial navigation."

"'Orace feels something wonky too. Danny trusts you enough to go along, the Colliers won't make a fuss, and I don't expect Pennyfeather will even care. I dunno about Tarrant and his lot."

"Janet?"

"She couldn't figure out why the milch goat didn't need milking yet. Might be enough."

"We have to keep the long term in mind. If we're going to be here for a while . . . ."

"Shelter, food . . . ."

"The horses mean mobility, but I don't know about Janet."

"Or Dinah. Better to find a spot and dig in, you think?"

"Doesn't look like the winters are too hard here."

"That long? Wot about . . . ." He made a gliding motion with his hand. ". . . them?"

"Works both ways. Under cover, but not too far away."

He shrugged.

"Reckon they can find us if they want to."

"We don't know that we're alone, or what the neighbors are like."

They'd fallen into the shorthand of a hundred previous planning sessions. Not enough time or information for more than the broadest outline, but that was better than uncertainty.

The cat fell asleep. She woke as Modesty picked her up, but allowed herself to be carried back to the others without protesting human high-handedness. Willie thought the cat set a good example. When people she cared for were at risk, Modesty could be very high-handed.


	4. Darkness Falls

**Colony 3: Lake 4****, by DarkBeta**

**(Valley, Night of the First Day)**

Maude and George had found a stone outcropping several times a man's height. It was cracked in two, evidence that the land wasn't as gentle as it seemed. Dirt sifted between the two halves made a series of terraces. They cleared out the dead weeds and made a fire, with a wall of rubble to trap its heat and block its light. At dusk they squeezed into its close quarters.

"Not that I'm complaining about a night under the stars," Stephen said, lying back with his head on Dinah's lap, "but I didn't catch the weather report. What if we get rain?"

"Not for two or three days, at least," Modesty reported. "We'll have fog in the morning."

"Yes, but how do you know? Not that I have any objection to getting wet in a good cause, but if we're going to cobble together a roof, better we do it before we're half-drowned than after."

"I asked Dinah," she said. "Ouch!"

She'd been levering a baked clay ball out of the fire with two sticks, but one of them snapped. She shook fingers that had gotten too close to the flames. Willie put aside the bow shaft he was smoothing with a river stone, and squatted beside her.

"Better leave it to me, Princess."

"Don't let him do the cooking! I've seen what Willie can do to an innocent pan of eggs, and that's on a range!"

Willie broke open the first ball, peeling clay and skin away from a roast squirrel. He'd spent the afternoon along the edge of the trees, with a sling and a handful of river pebbles, and come back with a dozen squirrels, two crows and a porcupine. Dinah thumped the top of Stephen's head, finding her target without hesitation.

"Smells pretty good from here," she said. "If you're not going to risk it, I get your share."

"Greedy gluttonous woman," Stephen said, with a hand on her stomach. "You've been telling tales out of school again. How did you know we're not getting rain?"

"I could smell the wind coming in from the sea and it didn't smell wet and heavy. Just wet and light."

"'Ere, Dinah. Fer 'aving sense enough not to insult the cook, you get to eat first," Willie said, handing her the meat on a platter of bark.

"Rank favoritism!" Stephen said indignantly. "I shall complain to the management!"

Dinah chuckled evilly.

"Won't do you any good. Right, Modesty?"

Stepping past them with a second platter, Modesty answered with an exaggerated accent.

"Mais non! We are tres fortunate to have so distingue a chef! Zat minor matter of ze butcher's knife and ze patron 'oo question hees entree, it ees nozzing!"

With the haughty tilt of his head, Willie managed to summon a white jacket and a chef's toque as he turned another clay ball in the embers. Stephen sat up to get out of Dinah's way.

"Here, lean on me for a change. Imagine me converted into an overstuffed bronze velvet armchair, with horsehair stuffing."

"You're not as prickly as horsehair. Silver-grey suede, with sheep's wool," she insisted. "The squirrel is pretty good, honey. Try a bite?"

Her fingers were deft among the small bones, cannier than his would have been in the dark. She held a morsel up over her shoulder.

"You didn't disagree with 'overstuffed'. Obviously I must immediately begin a reducing diet. You finish it."

He ignored an abdominal rumble, watching Modesty carry the platter up to Tarrant. She and Willie had managed to deflect any discussion of what they should do next. Which implied that the two of them had already come to a decision, and knew it wouldn't be well-received.

"They're worried. Modesty and Willie, I mean," Dinah whispered.

It wasn't the first time that he'd been surprised by her uncanny ability to know what he was thinking.

"They'll talk when they're ready. We'll be all right. I mean, if they were expecting an attack they'd be doing a lot more about it."

"I know that! Only, if they don't want to talk about it, it has to be really dangerous for them."

Stephen Collier sat with his arm around his wife's gently swelling belly, and made the hardest decision of his life.

"We won't let them do it. Not alone. They've stood between us and danger too often."

Dinah rested her arm along his and leaned back, warm and trusting.

"Whatever 'it' is," Stephen added. "I consider it remiss of those two, giving us no hint as to whether we'll cross trackless wilderness, climb unclimbed mountains, face ravening hordes, or the ilk."

"You bet, Tiger. We're all scared stiff of those Ilk."

"Probably all of the above," he concluded glumly.

ooooooo

Fraser, Tarrant reflected, resembled a City banker who'd been caught up in a Scout jamboree against his will. Maude Tiller's bobbed hair and green pantsuit made her look more like one of the scouts, trying enthusiastically for another merit badge. As for himself . . . the comedic possibilities were obvious. His dinner suit was distinctly too formal for the wilderness.

They were clustered like beads on a string in the narrow gully. Maude and Fraser here with him, Brooks and his daughter and the sergeant a little farther down. Uncharacteristically, Collier had pushed into a position closest to the fire. A story there, perhaps. Lady Janet, unwilling to climb too far into the crevice with her artificial leg, was perched on a ledge nearby. Dr. Pennyfeather had folded onto the ground, and stared into the fire with bovine intensity. 'Orace had stayed out in the dark, and Peters was unwilling to leave him alone there.

Tarrant didn't recognize the environs. Obviously temperate, but just as obviously not the English countryside. Some place in the Americas, perhaps. He'd seen no wildlife exotic enough to indicate Africa or Australia.

"Our first course of the night. Squirrel en Daub a la Garvin," Modesty said, kneeling gracefully to hand him a bark platter. "The others take longer to cook, so we'll be eating in stages. Mind you, the next course is also Squirrel en Daub a la Garvin."

"Obviously a specialty of the house."

Hunger made the hot unsalted meat delicious, what there was of it. He nibbled about the ubiquitous bones. Modesty seemed about to speak as she sat down, but she lapsed into an uncharacteristic diffidence instead.

"Do I take it that departing our current location will be a greater challenge than we might hope?" he offered.

She sighed.

"Willie knows, but I haven't decided how to explain this to the rest of you."

"Go ahead."

"We aren't on Earth now."

Maude and Fraser, close enough to hear, were suddenly still. Tarrant did not bother to ask if she was joking. The matter was too serious. Fraser dropped a hand casually to his pocket, pulled out of line by a borrowed weapon.

"Mind-bending?" he suggested.

If Modesty and Willie had been worked over, while the rest of them slumbered . . . . Anyone could be broken. Anyone. But Tarrant would wager his life that neither of them could be broken so thoroughly without leaving traces.

"You might have said this earlier. I assume you have reason to speak now?"

Modesty pointed at the narrow streak of black above them.

"The best proof I can think of is up there. Maude just got back . . . ."

"Ah, yes. Her wilderness survival refresher. Miss Tiller?"

"Sir?"

"Let us see if the taxpayers' pounds have been well spent on your training. Please attempt a night-sky navigational sighting."

"Yes, sir."

They heard her skid on loose rock, as she moved far enough from the crevice to get a good view of the sky. Modesty looked after her. Tarrant let the silence stretch. He shook his head at Fraser when the other man stirred and would have protested.

Maude returned, moving slowly.

"I . . . I don't know. I don't recognize anything. But maybe I don't remember it right. I'm not as familiar with the Southern sky . . . ."

"They aren't the same," 'Orace said, appearing behind her. "The land needs songs. Gonna be a price for living here. Don't know who'll pay."

"Got some billy," Modesty said.

'Orace grinned, his white teeth startling in the dark. He held up a three-foot snake and a kerchief of rattling eggs. Bluey Peters arrived behind him, with several small fish strung on a stick.

"Something for the pot," Bluey said, and scrambled in past Tarrant. "Guess Willie's chief cook and bottle-washer?"

"For tonight," Modesty said. "Thanks."

Fraser leaned back as 'Orace carried the snake past him.

"Er, once that's cooked it tastes like chicken, correct?"

"Nah," 'Orace said, uncomfortingly.

"Thank you, Maude. We have no conclusive evidence as yet, but your efforts are indicative," Tarrant told her.

He looked up himself, and saw nothing familiar. The others were waiting for more. What was he supposed to tell them?

England was . . . distant, at best. Unrecoverable, according to Modesty. If she was right they had no way to get home, no hope of rescue. No search would find them. He'd die in exile. He set that thought aside, a pain to be dealt with at leisure.

They were a handful of castaways, without skills or supplies, trying to stay alive. No, not entirely unskilled. Modesty, Willie, 'Orace, even Maude had the training to deal with this. Dr. Pennyfeather had improvised under conditions nearly as challenging, and he'd managed to drag along his black bag. Tarrant had personal experience of how capable Fraser, Weng , Lady Janet, the Brooks and the Colliers had proven in the past. Peters didn't strike him as dead weight either.

They were going to survive. Starve the imagination, and take that for a certainty. What could Tarrant do to improve their chances?

He looked about the camp site one more time. Beads on a string. Not one group, but many small ones. What happened to peoples who did not unite against danger?

In any other situation his bow would have seemed old-fashioned courtliness, a gentleman's acknowledgement of a female acquaintance.

"You have my support."

"Sir?" Fraser asked, disbelievingly.

Maude looked from face to face, searching for clues. Modesty inclined her head.

"I hoped that was what you'd decide."

She let him see her relief. Tarrant turned to the remaining members of his department.

"I seem to be somewhat outside the writ of my authority. However I would take it as . . . a personal favor, if you followed Blaise and Garvin's advice."

"Of course. Happy, ah, happy to be of service," Fraser said, after a long pause. "For the, er, active period of our current crisis, of course."

Maude shrugged.

"I don't pretend to understand what's happened, but count me in. What do you want us to do?"

"Rest. Eat -- I think Willie's bringing the next batch of squirrel out," Modesty directed. "In the morning we need to start looking for a . . . more permanent camp."

"You mean, a settlement," Tarrant clarified.

"Yes. A settlement."

"Will you speak to the Chief Inspector now?"

His dry tone made it clear he wasn't volunteering for the job. Modesty grinned.

"After he and his daughter have something to eat. I want him in a better mood."

She smiled again at Tarrant's dubious expression. When she left, carrying the emptied platter back to the fire, Fraser leaned forward.

"Do you truly believe Miss Blaise's, ah, not entirely convincing narrative? Alternative explanations do in fact present themselves."

"Not that many, Jack. And I don't find the other explanations that convincing. Perhaps that makes me a madman too. Are you willing to humor an old man's delusions?"

"I've followed your lead a long time, in the field and out of it. I'm not screwing with success. This is sodding weird though. Er, excuse me, Miss Tiller. I forgot you were here."

Maude shook her head.

"It's bloody unbelievable. So why do I believe her?"

"Previous acquaintance," Tarrant said dryly. "After the second or third time one's life is saved by those two, one's critical faculties are affected."

Willie and Modesty edged past again, carrying refilled platters. Tarrant leaned back against the rock, feeling a certain pity for the Chief Inspector's imperilled worldview. Several minutes went by, time enough for the police contingent to get well into their catered squirrels.

"Wait for it, wait for it . . . ." Maude murmured, like a football commentator.

A broad Midlands voice echoed along the gully.

"What a load of codswallop!"

Maude mimed extreme outrage. Tarrant felt his lips twitch into a smile.


	5. Reaction

**Colony 3, Chapter 5: Reaction**

**Valley, Morning of the Second Day**

A cold night on hard ground left Tarrant feeling ancient and disinclined to move. He hadn't slept much. He'd lain still, determined not to disturb anyone else, and heard Willie pass the watch to Sutton, Sutton to Maude, and Maude to Modesty. At the first grey light Willie walked down to the stream, returning less than an hour with several trout bundled in his shirt. Tarrant had been glad to sit up and try to warm himself at the kindled fire.

'Orace had gone off somewhere. After a word with Modesty, Bluey went after him. The fog drifted away in rolls like feather beds. The sun rose over the edge of the oak woods, high enough that he had a pool of light. Tarrant basked, and watched the morning's comedy.

"Bloody hell!"

Lynn giggled. Willie sucked a bleeding knuckle, and glared at two eyes under a bush. They glared back at him.

The second barn cat had stolen a fish right off their serving plate. Willie's shout sent it into a thorny sanctuary. For over an hour he'd tried to retrieve it, with Collier's inexpert assistance.

"You've got to admire it though. It hasn't got a chance against all of us, but it's going down fighting."

Stephen Collier made a grab for the little black animal, and fell back with a howl.

"Damn cat!"

"And the score is, feline: two, humans: none," Dinah laughed.

Her hands went on weaving reeds into a basket, and her eyes stared at the woods she couldn't see. She and Modesty sat at one side of the guttering fire, with a pile of softened reeds between them. Most of the others still sat around the fire too, digesting baked trout washed down with a strange tisane.

"You know we can't leave it here, Willie. If a fox didn't get it, a hawk would," Modesty said reasonably.

"I know, Princess."

Collier took a couple of steps to the side of the bush. The cat abandoned its feint and withdrew under the spiny branches.

"I pity the hawk that mistakes that imp for a rabbit. Look at Stripes. She's not making a fuss."

The grey-striped cat, watching the reed-ends shift under Dinah's hands, didn't react to its sobriquet. Tarrant was still chilled. He rubbed his hands together, trying to ignore the ache in his bones.

"Stealth and coercion seem to have failed. Perhaps the time has come for bribery. Have we any trout left?"

"No, and if there was I wouldn't waste it on a cat," Collier said.

Dinah held out a long reed from the pile beside her, and began scratching the ground with its end. Stripes focused eyes and ears on it. Chief Inspector Brooks surveyed them all with disfavor.

"Forget the cat. We need to discuss how we're going to reach civilization."

"Not much to discuss, Inspector." Willie picked up the vest he'd abandoned when he began the cat hunt. "Soon as everything's packed up, we can start downstream."

"We need to gather wood for a signal fire, not wander off to be even more lost!"

Modesty wedged another reed into her weaving.

"No signals yet. We don't know whose attention we'd catch. Perhaps after we settle in."

"I can't stop anyone else from following you on this . . . this mad jaunt, but Lynn and Sutton and I are staying right here."

Modesty set aside the nearly finished basket and looked at him.

"I've got a daughter," Brooks added, in something like apology.

"I wouldn't do anything that let Lynn be hurt."

The Chief Inspector may not have heard the battle trumpet sounding in her tone, but Sergeant Sutton did. He moved around the fire to stand by his commander.

"Then give up this delusion!" Brooks blustered. "Fraser, you're a sensible man. You can't mean to go along with them?"

"Ah, well, this may not be the ideal moment to redistribute the recognized authority. Procedure is vital. Perhaps arrangements for a plebiscite could be enabled, yes, that's the ticket!"

Lynn ignored Fraser's blithering.

"Daddy! Don't be rude. Even if Miss Blaise went bonkers, you know Willie wouldn't go along with her."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," her father huffed.

"He wouldn't. Not if she'd get hurt, or the rest of us. Can't we just wait, and see if things work out the way Modesty says they will?"

"You can't stay here," Maude contributed. "We saw bear scat in the woods, and the tracks of a wild dog or a wolf.. George, tell him!"

The sergeant crossed his arms.

"We saw something . . . . Gangsters I can I.D. Fewmets aren't my specialty."

"I'm not leaving anyone behind," Modesty stated. "Brookie . . . ."

Collier coughed.

"This isn't the best place for a bonfire, surely? Damp ground, damp wood, and the trees are tall enough to block the line-of-sight. Conditions would have to be better nearer the coast, wouldn't they? Not that I'm any kind of expert. Fire and the Colliers have never been close acquaintances. No heroic relatives in the fire department or anything like that. We discount the rumors about great-uncle Hiram, who ran into financial difficulty with his dry goods shop. The family's viewpoint is that the insurance company behaved in a hostile and discourteous fashion throughout the whole affair."

Lynn, George Sutton, and the Inspector stared at him.

"You're missing the point!" Lynn started.

Unexpectedly the Chief Inspector laughed.

"Rolled up, by God! Foot, horse and baggage. Ma'am, set the line of march. We'll accompany you, for now."

The small black cat crept toward the reed Dinah was waving. Suddenly it pounced.

"Got you!" Collier crowed, scooping it up in his dinner jacket.

At the cost of only a few more scratches, he decanted it into a newly finished basket. The basket howled, hissed and shuddered. Ruefully Collier examined the slashes in his jacket.

"Well, there's a silver lining, if you'll pardon the expression. I don't have to explain this to my tailor."

ooooooo

Lady Janet finished her examination of something on the ground, straightened up, and bent over again a few yards away.

"Janet? We're about ready to leave," Willie called.

"I'm almost done. Just a few more minutes . . . ."

"I'd ask what you were doing, if I was sure I wanted to know."

Lady Janet grinned, looking up from a horse dropping she was teasing apart with a pair of sticks.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you. Not until I know whether it's going to work. Ah!"

One stick deposited a sample into an emptied cigarette packet. Willie put his hands up and backed away.

"I decided. I don't want to know."

"You're too squeamish, laddie. Manure is only fertilizer," Janet told him, her Scots 'r' more than usually evident. "Best thing you can do for the ground is run beasts over it."


	6. Recourse

**Colony 3: Valley, Chapter 6****, by DarkBeta**

**(About Noon, Second Day)**

Willie learned to ride as an adult, well enough to keep up with Modesty in the field, but he would never find the same instinctive pleasure in it that she did. Krista-the-horse seemed to know as much. In spite of his urging, her amble slowed. She slewed sideways to nip at the shrubbery, blocking the deer trail.

When Willie thumped her sides she gave him a wall-eyed look and flung her head up as if to rear. He collected her firmly.

"Come on, sweetheart. You don't want to dump Papa Willie, do you? Who'd bring you sugar lumps, eh? Who'd curry you clean after a hard ride?"

Krista's ears went forward. She arched her neck showily, and set off at an elegant pace. Behind them, Stephen shook his head.

"So that's how he does it."

"Good technique," Danny agreed, with the dispassion of a man who had a better one.

He was walking just ahead of the Colliers, on the uphill side of the trail. Dinah rode behind her husband, bareback on the gentle grey, with her arms around his waist. Two cats wailed in reed panniers. The grey flicked an occasional ear at them, but trudged on phlegmatically.

"Does what?" Dinah asked.

"Brings home all the girls. I always wondered how such an unprepossessing lout managed so many romantic successes. Apparently it's a kind of verbal hypnosis. Assuming we take his word for his profligate career, of course."

"Not all the girls," Willie protested. "I don't sleep with everyone I meet. Me, I'm discriminating."

Maude gave him a derisory look.

"You've got a stew in every port. And if she happens to be out of town, she's recommended you to a score of her dearest friends."

Willie put on a crestfallen expression.

"Willie's looking like his dog just died. Crushed. Devastated!" Stephen reported to Dinah.

"Oh, I don't think that's fair."

At her protest, Willie looked back with a grin.

"Thank you. See, everybody? Dinah doesn't think I gallivant around . . . ."

"I'm sure he only sleeps with the really superior stews," Dinah finished.

Willie groaned. Janet laughed so hard she almost lost her seat. The gelding shied, trying not-very-seriously to dump her, and Janet reined in sharply. The goat let out a protesting "ma-a!" as her lead rope jerked. Danny took a quick step out of range.

"That's not nice. Willie's not like that!" Lynn protested.

She rode behind Tarrant on the old hunter. She had wanted to join her father, in the lead with Maude and Willie, but Inspector Brooks put his foot down.

"Of course he isn't," Maude called back. "But he's close enough we've got a right to tease him about it."

"I hear water ahead," Dinah said. "We're almost back to the stream."

They'd taken the stream they woke beside as a guide, following it downhill. Sometimes they had to swing wide of it, as it cut gullies into the rich earth. Frasier, Weng and Sutton brought up the rear, with Modesty on the arab. She left them to trot alongside the others.

"We're almost to a clearing. Everybody, take a break and stretch your legs. Willie and I are going to look ahead."

ooooooo

Modesty had the lead, breaking ground for this leg of the path, but the woodlands were opening up. No reason they couldn't ride near enough to talk. Willie kneed Krista-the-horse to catch up.

"Are we looking for something special?"

"Water. Pasture. Some place defensible."

Her voice was curt. He didn't push things, but he didn't back off either. Several minutes later she gave him a rueful smile.

"Sorry, Willie. I'm taking things out on you, and that's not fair."

He shrugged.

"Don't matter. We landed a right old job 'ere."

She stared forward.

"It feels like starting the Network again. Only instead of making a million pounds and getting out, I have to keep everyone alive. And there's no way out at all."

"'Course there is," Willie said. "Take off like 'Orace an' Bluey did. They'd never find us. The two of us will manage on our own."

Modesty frowned back at him.

"Right. If I said that was what I was going to do, you'd go with me?"

"I would. But you won't. See, you got the wrong end of the stick."

"Oh, yes?" she said stiffly.

Willie hid his grin.

"Unless that flying saucer or whatever comes back, we're going to die here. Just like we were going to die on Earth. You going to stop that? You never got that stuck on yourself before."

"Philosophy."

Her voice wasn't encouraging. Willie ploughed on.

"It isn't just staying alive. It's being alive. Making life worth it. And you're not on your own any more, even setting aside Mrs. Garvin's boy Willie. Tarrant's an old fox, and I'd take Maude at my back when things get hot . . . . They can keep themselves going. With a little help now and then, and you can manage that. You made the Network out of a bunch of hoods. You made me . . . out of the most unpromising tough it's been my displeasure to know."

"Ah, Willie. You didn't change. You just . . . got a chance, that's all."

Willie shook his head. Modesty had done more than give him a chance. But she was stubborn on that point, and he didn't bother to argue. She went back to scanning the terrain ahead.

"Not surviving, but surviving with style. I like it." she said.

The woods had thinned to scattered oaks here, with grassland between them. Willie took a deep breath and smelled hay. The sky overhead was porcelain blue. A family of hawks spiraled up the sunwarmed air.

"D'ye think 'Orace will be all right? Being stranded here, and not going home, and all."

The aborigine was a world traveler, at home from Macau to New York, but he returned frequently to the land where he was born. Whatever grief or nostalgia the others felt, was silken thread compared to the iron cable that had linked 'Orace to a few hundred square miles of the Outback.

"Bluey will watch his back."

Which didn't answer his question, but she was worried too. He let it drop.

"You want to angle back along the stream?"

"Let's have a look from the ridge while we're up here."

They dismounted short of the crest, and approached it crouched. If anyone watched in the valley beyond, they'd see no silhouettes against the sky.

Some forty deer grazed below them. The closest raised its head and stared, still chewing. Willie realized that the wind had changed, veering offshore as the land warmed, so their scent drifted toward the animals. The deer put its head down and went on grazing.

"Never bin hunted," he whispered.

"Not by anything that smelled like us."

Once the wide peaceful valley had been full of fire. A circle of low ridges showed where the volcano's cone had spread, remnants of pumice and ash left as the mountain fell in on itself and weathered away.

The stream they followed had cut into the walls and drowned the caldera. Some thousand years before, the whole of the valley would have been lake. Silt and lush growth had filled it. Now grassland stretched from the drier forested slopes to marshes ringing a shallow remnant of the lake, no more than three or four kilometres across. Reflected in the calm water was the fossil of the volcano itself, a worn stub of the plug of magma that caught in its throat after the final eruption.

"Might be a good place to camp," Willie suggested. "Plenty of water, and we can pick up a bit of wood on the way down. If the bugs aren't too bad."

"Mm-hmm. The herd doesn't look stressed."

She rolled over, staring up at the sky. Willie shifted a little lower on the slope and sat up. She'd thought of something. In a little while she'd tell him, let him try to pick holes in her plan. Meanwhile he kept an eye on the world around them, content with it in that company.

"How well does the Chef Garvin touch translate to venison?" she said finally.

"Madam will be astonish!" he assured her. "Going to check out your bow?"

Early in the march she'd walked for a while, choosing a target ahead of them, shooting, and retrieving the arrow as she reached it. A couple shafts were spoiled, but they both reckoned the cost was worth it to gain familiarity with the new weapon.

"Try your sling first. Once the herd moves off, we don't know if it'll circle back."

At least two deer then. More food than they needed for a single night. Supplies, maybe. They could cook the additional meat. Maybe stay a few days more and smoke or dry it. They'd save travel time in the long run.

Twenty minutes later, panting, he heaved the last carcass across to the lone oak where Modesty had started the field-dressing.

The horses sidled nervously where they were tied. They ignored the grasses rustling as scavengers circled in. The blood smell that attracted the jackals was what worried them.

"You could of made this easier," he told them.

Krista-the-horse whuffed, and dropped her head in what looked like an apology.

"I know it ain't what yer trained for. You'll do better next time."

"When you have a minute, Willie!"

He'd gotten the rise he was looking for. He chuckled, and went to help Modesty hoist the heavy carcass.

"Unsportsmanlike, that's what it was. I don't move like a predator, so they let me walk right up to 'em. First two were practically standing still."

"All the same, three deer with just a sling? That must be some kind of record."

"Would of been just two, except the third jibbed out o' the way of another and gave me the perfect shot. Criminal to waste it, really. And what was your bag, eh?"

"You know I got two, you ungracious cad."

By the time they passed her, much farther away, the deer had been in full flight. She could have downed more, if she'd been willing to chance something less than a clean kill.

The two of them working together could process the remaining bodies more quickly than the one Modesty had started on her own. She discarded very little. Willie followed her lead. When she stood up, scrubbing her hands with a bunch of dry grass, the jackals had moved close enough to stare. She nodded toward them.

"One of us has to stay, or it goes to waste."

"Me," Willie said.

He jerked a thumb at the stack of pebbles he'd collected.

"My ammo's easier to resupply."

She hesitated, trying to find a counter-argument, but he waited her out.

"Right. I'll take Bannock with me, try and bring back a few riders so you don't have to wait for the whole crew.

Bannock? That was Krista-the-horse's official name? What kind of name was that for a horse? No wonder he hadn't remembered it.

Modesty swung onto the arab. (Now her name was Ma'isah; a perfectly reasonable name if you knew your Arabic.) She frowned down at him.

"Anything bigger than those jackals turns up, Willie, you go up the tree. We can live without venison for dinner."

He waved acknowledgement, and watched her start off. Bareback, with only a halter, she moved like she was part of the horse. It was a pleasure seeing something done right.

The grass rustled. Willie picked up a couple of pebbles and held them ready as he started the sling.

"Now, which of you wants to try 'is luck first?"


End file.
